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Wake Up Call
Armory - Combaticon Base This is the part of the room that contains the things that go bang in the night, day, and often in the middle of the afternoon. A variety of lockers, cabinets, and metal boxes have been arranged in the room to provide whomever can get through the thickened steel and optical scanner sealed door with whatever additional munitions, weapons, or ammunition they may need. In addition to all this supplies four lockers have been arranged in a row in an alcove on the right side of the room each with a name painted onto them in alphabetical order. Standing in the middle of the armory is none other than the Combaticon Commander himself: ONSLAUGHT! The mental mastermind is currently looking through the objects in this room and checking them off on a holoboard that he's carrying in his big hands. Clearly, he's got all of his attentions focused on making sure that everything they own is accounted for and such. Not to mention he's also making notes on what they need to acquire. All of which is categorized by the different plans that he's got labeled on the holoboard that he's spending the most time looking at. When Onslaught does inventory, it takes forever. Blast Off slowly wanders in from the outside hallway. The shuttleformer does not carry himself with his usual purposeful, confident gait, but instead makes a slow, disjointed entrance. He carries his ionic blaster and has arrived to get some recharge packs for the gun. Staring at the weapon, he doesn't even seem to notice Onslaught is there. "Blast Off." Onslaught doesn't even have to look up to know which of his Combaticons have entered into the room. He knows them too well or he's just keeping tabs on them, somehow. Either way it goes, he doesn't miss a beat in his inventory recording as he speaks to the shuttlebot. That's about as much of a greeting as he's going to give to Blast Off at the moment, since he's busy doing far more important things. Blast Off stops and stares at Onslaught for a moment, then slowly walks on to the locker where his recharge packs are. Without a word, he opens the locker and starts rummaging quietly through its contents. "While I'm sure I'm going to regret this, as it is a rarity that you are ever this silent, I find myself compelled to inquire as to the reasoning behind such a great thing." Onslaught looks up from the holoboard and his optics are somewhat focused on the shuttlebot. But not really. He's actually looking past him and into the locker so that he can count what's in there. "Though, if you prefer to wallow in your silence, I will not argue." Normally, this would immediately garner a *huff* from said shuttlebot about how he is *usually* silent... and such a great, silent, awesome sniper-type too! This time, he simply pauses in his locker search and looks back over at Onslaught. "I am merely restocking my weapon's packs. I'm sorry....I will be out of your way shortly." He sounds tired and there is not a trace of ego in his voice. The holoboard almost slips from Onslaught's fingers as he hears something he never thought he'd hear from the pompous afterburner that is Blast Off: AN APOLOGY! Increasing the grip on the holoboard, Onslaught holds it down to his side and glares with narrowed optics in the shuttlebot's direction. "You say that as if you have some use for your weapon. Clearly, though, you are no longer fit for your duties." Onslaught pours on the insulting commander speech as if attempting to push buttons on the sniper. "Perhaps I should look into a replacement?" This should shake Blast Off out of his mood! It does. Blast Off blinks, as if waking up from a stupor. "What?" The shuttleformer straightens slightly and turns to properly face his commander now. He tightens his grip on his blaster, too, as if afraid someone might take it from him. There is a small huff as he finds a spark of "fire" still inside- somewhere. A trace of confidence returns, or at least he makes it seem that way. "I...that will not be neccessary. I am quite fit for duty!" He holds up the blaster, like Onslaught hasn't seen it before. "I can still shoot, at least." He says that like there are other skills he's not so sure about any more. "Can you?" Onslaught lifts his head a bit, ignoring the rifle and turns to look at some other things that he needs to count. Luckily, he's impressively intellectual enough to do multiple things at once. Multitasking is nothing to the Onslaught. "Apparently, you are lacking in more than one department, as it has come to my attention that who is rapidly becoming a constant thorn in your side is still alive." Onslaught sounds almost as if he is smirking at this fact. "Surely, you of all mechs, are not going to ask for help in rectifying this situation?" Reverse Psychology Orders: Kill Blurr. Blast Off wants to blurt out, -What do you think I've been TRYING to do???!!!- but knows better than do that. Instead, he glares angrily at his blaster. "I am.....working on it. That... individual... is just incredibly lucky sometimes. I was ...(*some passion returns to his voice*) SO, SO close to finally humilating him during our big show-down at this race, and then......" He gives a death grip to his poor gun and his voice becomes quiet again. "Onslaught, I...f-f..." the word is extremely hard for Blast Off to even say. He finally hisses it out: "FAILED." He glares off into the distance. "In front of EVERYONE. It *WAS* neck and neck, at least, but still- he won. I ...know that perhaps I am hard on myself sometimes. I expect the best from myself. I am ...usually that good, why *shouldn't* I do that? But.... I did my best and this time I just couldn't beat him.... and everyone saw it." "You see failure whereas I see potential for victory." Onslaught is still not giving Blast Off his full attention because that would just be too much caring at one time. He must continue to push the buttons and challenge the shuttle to get him back into fighting shape. They are /COMBATICONS/. There is no room for feeling sorry for themselves or each other or even the cheering of each other up. There is only COMBAT. "You fail to realize that even at this point he believes that you will never defeat him in anything. This will make him overconfident, thus giving you an opening to exploit when he least expects it. Does it matter that you are physically incapable of surpassing him? No. Does it matter that he believes you will never beat him? Yes." Onslaught reaches out to grab a box and peers into it. A rat scurries out and he shakes his head. "You are many things, Blast Off. You are annoying. Your views and attitude are as asinine as Galvatron's hopes of destroying the Autobots once and for all. You are also, quite possibly, one of the biggest whiners that I have the displeasure of knowing. But you are also a Combaticon. And Combaticons never lose. We merely prolong victory." Blast Off stands, listening and inwardly wincing at *several* of Onslaught's comments. But they also make him angry. Onslaught's plan works- but maybe a little too well. "Is that it, then? I "annoy" you? Why did you ever choose me for the Combaticons, then? I think I have done extremely well, considering what I have had to work with." And then, before the incensed (and still slightly out-of-it) shuttleformer really thinks about it, he adds: "Perhaps I wouldn't have occasion to "whine" if my *leaders* came up with better plans beforehand!" The rat that was scurrying gets crushed beneath Onslaught's huge foot without even a second thought. In fact, that might be the only thing that's keeping Blast Off from being blasted through the base. Onslaught hesitates for a moment before finally turning to level his optics at the failure. "If you had come to me in the first place, you would not be in this position." Onslaught tosses the holoboard onto a table and crosses his arms over his chest, his foot grinding the final squeaks from the rat beneath his heel. "You are prone to mistakes, so I am going to let you live to see another day. But allow me to make one thing perfectly clear, Blast Off. You will not ever shift the blame for your own inadequacy to myself or my plans ever again. That is, of course, unless you want to find yourself deactivated and smelted down for parts." It is a calmly spoken threat that probably is more terrifying than angry Onslaught. Blast Off realizes it was a mistake almost as soon as he utters the words. The shuttleformer winces once, then winces again as the rat (and parts of his spark, it seems) is mercilessly crushed. And he doesn't doubt Onslaught's sincerity one bit. He backs slightly away, then stands looking back at his commander. Finally, he nods. "...Perfectly clear, sir." An extra bit of formality seems appropriate right now. He edges back to his locker. "I... am not myself today. It will not happen again." "Excellent." Onslaught scrapes off what's left of the rat from his foot onto the bottom of some random table and makes a move towards the exit. "Finish this inventory report. After that, we will go make a supply run and see if we can't find the Blast Off that the Combaticons need." Onslaught does care. Kind of. "In the meantime, I will put together the perfect plan to foil your constant foe once and for all." Blast Off nods again, still gripping his blaster. "I... look forward to it." And he does mean it. The shuttleformer has always admired Onslaught's plans, he has just gotten frustrated with a lack of results against the Autobots recently. Especially when Blast Off's own plans concerning his arch-rival failed and that failure was seen by billions of people across the galaxy. Also, Blitzwing recently telling him that he might go the way of Starscream if he didn't rein his ego in a bit- didn't help either. He's still not entirely sure why that bugged him, but it did for some reason. And now here's Onslaught, also telling him he's "physically incapable" and asinine. The shuttleformer has a lot of thinking to do, if he cares to. Will he? "....You will find him... me, I mean. I *am* skilled. I am THE BEST at what I do. ...That should not be a question." (He sounds more like his usual confident self, but there is a trace of question to the last sentence.) Onslaught makes his way towards the exit before finally turning to look over his shoulder at Blast Off. He nods just a bit. "Show. Don't tell." is the remaining sliver of advice that he gives, before disappearing like some vile Sith Lord, exiting the armory and likely headed back to his office to plan. Blast Off nods as Onslaught departs. He stands there, looking at his blaster again. "Yes. I am going to show them all my skills and worth. Onslaught, Blitzwing, and especially-and to his chagrin- ...Blurr." He heads over to his locker, finds the packs for his gun and then heads to finish Onslaught's inventory, as told. He looks back up at all the weapons and mutters to himself. "I HAVE to."